A Good Night's Sleep
by fadedmystery
Summary: He doesn't know why he comes here every night, just to watch her sleep.... PeterSusan. Don't like, don't read. You have been warned.


**A.N. :** Hey there! Well, this is my first fanfic, and basically I hope you like it. I was a bit hesitant to post it here, since it is Peter/Susan, but like what I said in my profile, I wrote this to test my own boundaries---besides, despite playing siblings, William Moseley and Anna Popplewell look really good together, haha. Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames are not. I've already provided a warning about the themes in this story---if you don't like it, don't read it, plain and simple. To those people who do read it, however---have fun reading!

**A Good Night's Sleep**

**By: fadedmystery**

The night air is cold and swift, grazing her cheek as it passes through the open window. The room is dark, save for the moon's lone shadow, and there is no sign of movement, except for the steady breathing of the bed's inhabitant. The bed, as is the room in itself, is grandiose---wrought from gold itself, twisted into a sensible bed frame, the headboard decorated with swirls and lattices, and adorned with jewels of every kind. And there, lying amidst the thick, warm covers of the deepest crimson and gold, is the gentle queen, deep in slumber.

There is a sudden step before stopping abruptly, as though the maker of the sound has realized the noise and has ceased for fear of being discovered. But the girl---no, woman--- does not stir, and quietly, ever so carefully, like a thief in the night, he emerges, out of the darkness, out of the shadows.

He pauses just at her bedside, and for a moment, all is still. He watches her sleep, watches the steady rise and fall of her chest as slumber lulls her further away from the waking world. What does she dream about? He wonders for a fleeting moment, seeing the barest hint of a smile on her face. _Happy things_, he supposes, and slowly, a smile curves his lips.

He aches to reach out, to stroke her cheek with his fingers, to feel the warm ivory skin against the palm of his hand---but he knows that he cannot. He longs to run his fingers through her dark curls, feeling the silken texture of her hair as he draws her close---but he knows it is forbidden. And so he struggles with restraint.

She whimpers suddenly, the smile replaced with a frown, eyebrows knit together, and for a moment he yearns to take her in his arms, to hold her, to soothe her troubles even as she sleeps and whisper words of comfort in her ears. The temptation is strong, but he holds back, though it pains him to do so.

He doesn't know why he comes here every night, just to watch her sleep. He is sure she doesn't know it, though, and when she questions him why he looks so tired during breakfast the next morning, he can only lie. He longs, desires for many things, as do all men….but he pines for her the most, though he knows that he can never have her. And yet, he cannot stop.

He isn't aware of the time, but he realizes that he has passed yet another night when he glances at the open window and sees the dark starting to lighten, until it is, every so slowly, painted into the bright, luminous shades of day. The sun begins to peak from among the clouds, slowly replacing the moon's shadow as the lone light ray that hits her room. And then he knows that it is his cue to leave.

But as he makes his turn there is a rustling from among the bed sheets and slowly, quietly, a soft voice says, still laced with grogginess from sleep, "Peter? Is that you?"

He freezes, cursing himself at being caught, and he forces himself to turn around and face her. She is sitting up in her bed already, still looking quite tired from sleep, but here, even in her most disheveled state, with the sun casting a glow about her face, he thinks that she has never looked lovelier that she does now.

"Good morning, Susan," he manages to say pleasantly, nodding and smiling at her. She only looks at him quizzically.

"What're you doing here so early? The sun's just risen," she asks, taking the robe that is hanging nearby and, slipping into it, getting up from her bed. Tying the sash securely around her waist, she gives him another look.

Once again, he is forced to lie. "Nothing. I couldn't sleep, so I did a little wandering around Cair Paravel. I thought I heard something in your bedroom, so I came in to check."

Susan does not look convinced----on the contrary, a semblance of a frown is beginning to settle upon her face. "Peter, you almost always can't sleep at night----you look so tired during mornings." She cocks her head, giving him a concerned look as she walks to him and lays a hand on his shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

Her hand is warm on his shoulder, and Peter draws in a sharp intake of breath to steady himself, inwardly groaning. When did he become such a simpering, pathetic, lovesick fool?

"Of course everything's alright. No need to worry, Susan," he said gruffly, taking his hand and removing hers from his shoulder---only to realize that their fingers have entwined. For a brief moment, they do nothing but stare at each other.

"You know you can always tell me anything," she says suddenly, and although her head is telling her to pull her hand away, the warmth of his hand, so calloused from battle and swords, keeps her from moving it from his grasp. "We used to have no secrets, remember? All four of us."

"Not this time." His voice is still gruff, and he pulls his hand away from hers. Susan is clearly startled, but she says nothing. Peter glances at the door----he realizes that he must leave before he does something that he knows he will regret. "I must be going. Get dressed, Susan. I'll see you at breakfast."

And with that he leaves, the door clanking noisily as it shuts close, leaving the queen to stare at his retreating form in utmost puzzlement…and with more than just a slight hint of disappointment.

..------..

She finds him in one of the castle courtyards, brandishing his sword. She has to smile---she knows he takes battle and swordfight very seriously, and he never fails to practice more. But there is none of the easy, agile grace in his movements that was present before----everything, from the way he stands to the way he draws his sword, even his very expression is troubled. With a sigh, she steps into the courtyard, the hem of her emerald dress swaying across the ground.

"Peter!" she calls out, and immediately, he turns and stops, his sword clutched in his closed palm. She sees him sheathe his sword with a sigh and walk to her. Sweat has matted his unruly hair into his forehead, and he has discarded his royal robes for a simple tunic, but he walks with the regal majesty befitting a High King.

"What is it, Susan?" he asks, somewhat warily and out of breath.

"I wanted to talk to you," she replies simply. "You seemed so strange this morning, and throughout breakfast you were uncommonly silent. Are you sure everything's alright?"

"Yes,_mother_," he says, rolling his eyes. "Really, Susan, you need not be concerned. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some dignitaries from Archenland that I have to meet, and I don't really have the time for senseless chatter."

Queen Susan the Gentle is not at all a stupid girl, and she knows when she is being dismissed. Peter's tone is flat and firm, one he hardly uses with her, and it irritates her. What could Peter possibly be so bothered about that he couldn't tell her what it was?

"Alright then," she says, head held high. "I shall leave you to your duties. Perhaps I'll find Lucy and Edmund, or maybe practice some archery. Whatever I do, you can be assured that I won't bother you from kingly obligations anymore." And with a swish of her dress, she departs from the courtyard before Peter can call her back to apologize.

..------..

"Of all the arrogant little…" Susan mutters to herself as she enters the drawing room. Lucy and Edmund are there, perched by the fireplace in an animated conversation, but they look up as their older sister makes her entrance.

"What is it, Sue?" Edmund asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Susan, is something wrong?" Lucy joins in.

"Now what makes you think that something is wrong?" Susan says, somewhat testily. In the back of her mind she is reminded of Peter, evading all her concerned questions, but she pays no mind to it.

"You're muttering to yourself," Edmund points out with a slight smirk. "You only do that when you're irritated."

Lucy abandons her place by the fire for the cushioned seat next to Susan's. "Is it Peter, Susan? Is he what's bothering you?"

For a moment Susan is taken aback by Lucy's insight. How could she know? "What makes you say that?" she asks her.

"He's been acting rather odd, lately," Lucy says, a contemplative look entering her features. "Always thinking about something or other, always restless, always tired. As though he's thinking about something that doesn't allow him to sleep."

"Exactly!" Susan exclaims, relieved that she is not the only one who notices. She is startled by the sudden, shrewd look that Edmund gives her, but when she gives him a questioning look, he merely shrugs.

"What do you suppose it is, Edmund?" Lucy asks of her older brother. "Peter's odd behavior?"

"Hmm?" the Just King replies, still looking straight at his older sister with the same thoughtful look.

Lucy rolls her eyes. "I said---"

The conversation is interrupted when the door bursts open and in walks a nymph, one of the maidens of the castle. Given them all a low curtsey, she announces in urgent tones, "Your majesties, you must hurry. King Peter requests your presence in the Throne Room at once."

..------..

"Tashbaan? Peter, you cannot be serious," Susan says incredulously, the first sibling to speak up after the High King makes his announcement.

"I am. Quite serious, in fact," he says resolutely, and in that instance, Susan sees not the young man of nineteen that she has loved as a brother, and recently, more than that, but the regal king of Narnia known for his battles and magnificent strategies. It worries her.

"I'll go with you," Edmund instantly volunteers. "I'm sure you'll need all the help you can get."

"Me too!" Lucy says. "I'll bring my cordial."

"No!" Susan snaps, stopping her younger siblings in their tracks, adopting once more the stern tone she has copied from their mother. "No one is going to be going with anybody, because no one is going anywhere, do you hear me?"

The other three Pevensies are silent for a moment, before Peter decides to speak, the slightest hint of a smile making the corners of his mouth upturn. "Well," he finally says. "That's certainly a lot of 'goings'." The smile makes its full debut.

Somehow, this only lights the fuse to Susan's already short temper. "Will you stop making wisecracks, Peter? This isn't a joke, for goodness' sake! Going to war once again----"

"Relax, Susan," he tells her. "This is not war; I've merely been called to aid Archenland in their dispute with the Tisroc. A small thing, really, compared to what we four have faced."

"But it's as good as!" Susan is hysterical now, and her voice has risen to an octave. "We all know that's where it's going to end up in!"

"Which is why I'm going alone," he tells her, wondering why she seems so adamant not to let him go. "As I've said, this needn't be a big issue. If problems arise, I will call for the three of you. I promise."

"But Peter---" Edmund tries to say, but the High King interrupts.

"No, Edmund." Peter's voice is once again that hateful, flat, firm tone, and they know they are beaten.

"When do you leave?" Lucy asks, clearly displeased at her older brother.

"Tonight."

That one word sparks another round of protests, but Peter is unmovable. Susan, now at her breaking point, merely turns on her heel and gracefully walks out of the Throne Room, much to the stunned silence for the other three.

Edmund is first to recover. "I'll go talk to her," he says, knowing that there is plenty to talk about with his older sister.

But Peter stops him. "No, I will," he says in that same firm tone, before echoing Susan's footsteps out of the glittering chamber.

..------..

It is ironic, he thinks wryly as he spots her in one of the palace balconies, that just this morning, Susan was seeking after him, but now it is he who is seeking for her. Her wrists are perched on the ledge, and on her face is an irritated expression, leaving no doubt of her present mood. Of course, he has no doubt as well that said mood was largely because of him, but he waved the matter away.

"Do you have to go?" Susan's voice, soft as ever, floats through the air. "Do you really have to leave Cair Paravel, Peter?"

Peter doesn't understand why she is so afraid to let him leave. "Susan, I've left the castle hundreds of times, for far more dangerous reasons than this. Everything's going to be fine. What's all this worry for?"

The queen gives a small sigh and says, "It's just…when you left us the last time…and when you almost didn't come back…" She can't find her voice anymore---the memory still burns.

She can still remember those horrid times---Peter and Edmund had gone off to war, and she and Lucy had been furious that they couldn't participate. She and Peter had exchanged heated words, and he had left without so much as a good-bye.

Their absence, Peter's in particular, had made her restless with worry. She had always worried endlessly whenever the boys went to battle, but that time had been the worst. She couldn't eat properly, and when she could sleep she often had nightmares. During daytime she had tried to stay as composed and regal as ever, but Narnians knew that their queen was very disquieted.

And when Edmund had arrived at the castle, bruised and bloodied, to tell them that Peter was not faring well, Susan thought that she would die right then and there. She didn't know why she had such a fierce reaction to this, fiercer than normal, but all she knew was that she wanted Peter home, safe.

Seven agonizing days she waited. When the trumpets had finally blared, signaling the High King's return, all of Narnia rejoiced, but none so much as Queen Susan, who rushed out of the castle to meet him in exhilarated, dizzy delight. Peter had been bruised, battered, his clothes caked with dirt and blood, but Susan wound her arms around him in a fierce hug, as though afraid to let him go for fear that he might disappear.

And in that one moment of clarity, she knew: Despite the knowledge that it was wrong on every side, Peter meant the world to her, not just as a brother but as so much more. And she would never lose him again.

"But I did, didn't I?" His voice is just as soft as it is low. He wants to take her hand in his, to circle his arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be alright, but he is afraid that if he does it, he will lose all control. "And I will be back now, just like every other time."

Her next words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them. "I just…I can't bear the thought of losing you. I _don't_ want to lose you." And because she knows how much implications that must bring, she quickly adds, "We all don't."

Her words make him look at her, eyes locking into hers, almost scared, hardly daring to hope. He has barely heard the addition to her sentence, nor does he notice the slight flush in her cheeks. All he knows is that she cares for him, in whatever way he isn't sure nor did it matter to him, but she cares enough to want him home with her.

"You won't lose me, Susan. I promise you that," he tells her, giving her an earnest look. "As long as I am alive, you can be sure that there will be Four Rulers of Narnia."

Susan bites back a mix between a laugh and a sob at his words, and even he cracks a wry grin. A trumpet blares in the distance, and Peter turns to see the sun beginning to set. It is time for him to leave.

"I must go," he says. "The dignitaries are waiting for me."

"Peter, you just said---" The irritated Susan is back once more.

"I'm sorry, Sue. I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise. Watch over the others while I'm gone, alright?" And because he feels like taking a risk, he gives her a hug, hoping that it feels brotherly, knowing in the deepest recesses of his heart that it is not.

"Be careful," Susan whispers.

"Don't worry. I will be." Peter manages a small smile before breaking away and leaving her alone. A rush of cold breeze blows by, and Susan sighs, recalling the feel of his arms circling her in a warm, comforting embrace, so alike from the many hugs they had shared, but somehow…different.

She knows one thing, though: It is definitely not entirely brotherly.

..------..

Three nights have passed since Peter's departure. The night is cold still, but none of the fierce winds enter her room, for the now locked window has blocked them out. Susan is slumbering quietly in her bed, the rhythm of her breathing steady and slow, as always.

And as always, Peter steps from the shadows to watch her yet again.

He is tired from the long journey, as he had to increase his speed due to the overwhelming desire to be home, his clothes and shoes are well worn, and his hair is a messy mop that not even the simplest of crowns would deign to sit upon, but he is there.

When she had walked out on him at the courtyard a few mornings ago, all he had wanted to do was to call her back. But pride allowed him to let her leave. Pride had also allowed him to leave her behind, despite her protests. _Besides_, he supposed then_, maybe the further away she is from me, the easier I'll be able to deal with these blasted emotions. _He'd thought then that that was the start of it, the start for him to get over his silly dreams and realize that they could never happen.

And yet, here he is, in her bedroom at the dead of the night, watching her sleep, just like every other time.

Her sleep is peaceful, untroubled ", and he cannot help but smile as he watches her. But then something changes. She begins to thrash about in her bed, her expression upset and worried. She whimpers quietly, words issuing from her lips. No…" she whispers, her tone frantic, scared. "No…"

He wants to turn away---it pains him to see her bothered like this, even if he knows that it is just a silly nightmare. But her whispers become more urgent, and she cannot contain herself any longer._"No…please…don't hurt him…"_ she exclaims, starting to sob.

His resolve shatters then. Without caring that he is ruining his cover, that he is crossing the line he has drawn himself, he rushes to her and gathers her in his arms, rocking her gently back and forth as he would a small child.

Her eyes fly open then and she gasps back a few tears as she turns to Peter. For one moment, everything is frozen----she lies in his arms with all the resistance of a plaint doll, and he quietly soothes her with comforting words.

"Peter," she whispers, her eyes roaming all over his face. "I thought…"

"Shh," he says quietly. "It was a minor squabble, just as I said. It ended quickly. I'm here now."

"So it would seem," she says with a small smile, her composure slowly returning. "You're in my room again," she informs him, although there isn't anything accusatory in her tone.

"I told you I couldn't sleep," he replies. Susan sighs contentedly, snuggling deeper into his solid chest, and he bites back a gulp. Surely she could hear and feel his heart beating frantically?

The electricity in the air is frightening----they know something has changed, and they're not quite sure how to approach it. For now they stay there, content in the quiet, somehow scared to break the silence, preferring to leave things unsaid.

But Susan breaks the silence first. When she had woken up from that horrid nightmare to find Peter there, comforting her in his arms, her heart had soared. He looked tired then, even now, she supposed, but he had forsaken sleep to watch over her. Again.

"I'm glad you're here, and I'm glad that you're home." she tells him, smiling again. "Although really, Peter, you shouldn't forget to sleep just to watch me every night---it's not healthy, and while it's flattering, you need your rest. I daresay you haven't slept properly for quite awhile now."

Peter can only look at her in amazement. She knew all along? All this time? He, somewhat reluctantly, removes his arms from around her and gives her a look akin to a fish out of water. She laughs.

"You know?" he says, somewhat hoarsely.

She laughs again---ah, and what a delightful sound it is! "Of course I do," she replies, the mirth shining in her eyes. "You may be High King and Magnificent, Peter, but 'quiet' is something you never could be."

"And…." He chooses his words carefully, knowing that whatever he says will change everything anyway. "And….you aren't mad at me?"

Her smile is soft now, that smile that he adores gracing her face as she looks into his eyes, as though drinking in his very soul. "Why would I be mad knowing that the one person I care about the most cares enough for me as well? If anything, your presence here every night makes me sleep better."

Peter feels as though his heart is in danger of bursting. This is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, and yet….by some miracle, they feel the same way about each other, blood and relations be damned. Whatever might happen, they know in that one instant that they will fight together for this one chance at true happiness.

Their faces are much too close now, their hearts pounding wildly. Warning bells flash in their minds, telling them to move away one last time, but the pull is strong, and they know that, after this, they cannot return to just being brother and sister again. Somehow, that doesn't seem to scare them as much as before---they both know, even long before, that they share a bond that transcends siblinghood. They know they should show more restraint, think this through logically, but what would it matter, anyway? Even just for one night, they wish to truly live in the fantasy world.

And yet…

The kiss, the sweet, long-anticipated kiss turns at the last minute into a fleeting kiss on the cheek, a feather-light caress before pulling away. A simple, almost half-hearted, to be sure---but not by any means brotherly.

She gives him a questioning look, but he only shakes his head. He wants it, oh yes, he does, but he can see that she is tired. She needs her sleep (and frankly, so does he), and he wants their first kiss to be something heart-stoppingly special, and not just a mere brush on the lips before he leaves her room for his own. They had waited so long for this----one more night couldn't hurt.

He takes one look in her eyes, and he knows she understands.

"Sleep, dear Susan," he tells her as he slowly slides her under the covers. "We can't have both of us looking like zombies tomorrow morning, now can we?"

"Will you stay with me tonight, Peter? Please," she murmurs, but her voice is already heavy from sleep, as her eyes slowly drift close.

Peter knows that he can never refuse her anything. A soft, indulgent smile relaxing his mouth, he slides in next to her, pressing his lips to her hair as he whispers, "I'll stay with you forever, Susan. As long as it takes."

Slowly, his eyes fall close, and in that one moment, Peter knows that he will finally get a good night's sleep.


End file.
